


The Ritual

by HazelDomain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Anal Sex, Blood and Injury, Bondage, Bottom Castiel, Broken Bones, Bukkake, Castiel Has Self-Esteem Issues, Castiel Whump, Come Inflation, Enemas, Gang Rape, Healing, M/M, Marking, Monsters, Multi, No Healing Cock, Non-Con/Rape Outside of Castiel/Dean Winchester, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Ritual Rape, Ritual Sex, Secret Crush, Sex Magic, Showers, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Victim Castiel, Violent Sex, Witchcraft, destiel that does not forget Sam, jizz everywhere, platonic showering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 11:08:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10763034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HazelDomain/pseuds/HazelDomain
Summary: The Winchesters were used to being outnumbered. They weren’t too worried about taking on humans, numerous though they may be. It was the ritual’s mystery guest that concerned them.Their intel wasn’t good. They knew the cultists needed the participation of some incredibly powerful being in order to complete the summoning. “Powerful” and “being” were both very loosely translated, as was “participation.”





	The Ritual

The sound of chanting echoed down the hallway of the abandoned church.

Sam and Dean exchanged looks. Dean raised an eyebrow. He opened his mouth to make a quip, but Sam shook his head, cutting him off. 

By the sounds of the voices, there were at least two dozen people in the main room, most or all of them men. 

The Winchesters were used to being outnumbered. They weren’t too worried about taking on humans, numerous though they may be. It was the ritual’s mystery guest that concerned them. 

Their intel wasn’t good. They knew the cultists needed the participation of some incredibly powerful being in order to complete the summoning. “Powerful” and “being” were both very loosely translated, as was “participation.” 

On the other side of the swinging wooden doors, the gathered men could be sacrificing a bull or they could be handing their souls over to a knight of hell- or anything in between. 

Not for the first time, Dean wished they had Cas by their side. He was handy in a fight- even without the healing mojo that they’d almost  _ certainly _ need by the time they finished. 

But Cas apparently had his own business to attend to upstairs; they hadn’t been able to raise him for weeks now. It occurred to Dean to be worried, but there was always another haunting or coven ritual or crisis to contend with. 

The chanting reached a crescendo and the brothers exchanged glances. 

Now or never. 

Sam kicked the door open and Dean was through it in a second, firing a shotgun round into the ceiling. 

“Everybody be cool!” he shouted, and he didn’t need to look to know that Sam was rolling his eyes. 

You can tell a lot about a crowd by their reaction to the sound of a shotgun blast. Most of the time, people scatter. 

This crowd had a couple runners. Most of the participants, though, rounded on Sam and Dean with wide, horrible smiles. They were wearing the most clichéd black robes possible, and as one, they withdrew their hands from their sleeves, revealing long, pointed claws. 

“Oh,  _ fuck _ that,” Sam muttered, and Dean voiced his agreement by firing another shotgun blast. This one went straight through two of the creatures, ripping their robes and revealing pasty white skin. 

They crumpled instantly, startling the survivors, who apparently weren’t familiar with the concept of salt-and-silver buckshot. The crowd quickly parted, drawing away from the fallen as though buckshot perforation were contagious. 

Regardless of their motives, the motion had the effect of opening a clear shot to the altar, and the mystery creature waiting there. Dean raised his gun, leveling it at the thing even as Sam continued firing into the gathered creatures. 

It looked like a gooey pile of white feathers. Dean looked it over, trying to find anything that looked like a weak spot. 

One of the robed creatures rushed him, and he had to pause his evaluation while he dealt with that. 

Once the creature was eviscerated, Dean turned his attention back to the altar. 

Goo usually meant a completed summoning. Monsters tended to emerge from the ether dripping with ectoplasm. 

This didn’t look like ectoplasm. It looked…. 

Dean grimaced. 

It looked like a particularly dedicated bukkake scene, to be honest. 

Or it would, if not for the runnels of blood seeping through the feathers… and the morbidly silent robed ghouls currently descending upon the brothers. 

Dean lashed out with a machete, catching the nearest one across the chest. It hissed and dropped to the ground, dead. Dean glanced back at the twitching bundle of feathers, grit his teeth, and looked down at the dead monster. Quickly, hoping he was wrong, he used the tip of the machete to push the thing’s robes up. 

It wore nothing underneath, so when the back fabric hiked up, Dean was treated to the sight of a thin, worm-gray cock… smeared in blood and semen. 

He gagged, looking back to see if Sam was looking. 

Sam was staring wide-eyed, his attention moving between the creature on the altar and the creature at Dean’s feet. 

In their family, Dean had always been the killer. The grunt. Sam wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty, but he could never really see a monster as a  _ monster.  _ He needed to analyze things, make sure his actions were morally permissive according to his own internal judgement. 

Usually.

Dean knew a thing or two about bad memories, and if Sam’s eyes were getting that distant, glassy look Dean saw in the mirror sometimes… 

Well. It’s not like his little brother was about to work out his cage memories on  _ civilians.  _

Sam abandoned his gun in favor of a large blade, hacking his way through the rapidly dwindling congregation without much finesse. Several of the creatures were left alive, but immobile, and Dean had no doubt that Sam would be making a second pass once the immediate danger had passed. He focused his energy on reaching the altar and whatever poor, broken creature they had tied down on top of it. 

He hesitated before touching the thing, not sure he wanted to touch the slimy crap with his bare hands. For a second, he considered just taking the machete and putting it out of its misery, burning the church down, and being done with it. 

Then the stack of feathers groaned, and a section of them slid to the side. The face that looked up at him was bruised and swollen, one eye purpled and slitted, but Dean would still know it anywhere. 

Cas groaned again, but Dean couldn’t hear anything over the whining, rushing sound in his ears. It might have been his own pulse, or just the sound of absolute rage. 

Something touched his shoulder and he spun, blade raised, ready to stab the everloving fuck out of whatever fucking monster thought this was a good time to fight him. 

It was just Sam, a spray of blood across his shoulder, but apparently unharmed. 

Behind him, nothing breathed. 

“It’s-” Dean started, but he couldn’t finish. He gestured back to Cas’s face, but the angel had retreated back behind-

“Oh god, those are his  _ wings, _ ” Dean moaned, looking over the mutilated, bloody limbs. They were trembling, each matted feather standing on end. 

“Wings?” Sam asked, stepping closer. 

“Angel wings…” Dean murmured. “It’s  _ Cas. _ ” 

Sam said nothing, instead crouching down to get a better look. He reached out, brushing a bloodied clump of feathers out of the way, and once again, Cas’s face came into view. His mouth was open in what Dean had originally taken for a grimace. Now, though, Dean saw something glinting inside the angel’s cheek, and he realized that Cas was gagged. 

Instantly, Dean shrugged out of his jacket, letting it drop to the ground while he removed his flannel shirt. Cas glanced at him and then looked down, a strangled moan escaping his battered throat. 

“Hold on, I’m gonna get this off you,” Sam told him, doing his best to make eye contact as he reached behind Cas’s head. 

The buckle was coated with come and blood and for the first time Sam wondered how many people had  _ been _ here, to generate this much-

He let the thought die as the buckle came loose and the ring slid from between Cas’s teeth. 

Instantly, Cas shook his head, keeping his eyes low. 

“No,  _ please, _ ” he whispered, and Sam’s stomach turned. 

“Hey. It’s us. Cas. It’s us. Sam and Dean. We’re here.” 

Cas didn’t look up, and the shuddering didn’t stop. His wings remained wrapped tightly around his body. 

Sam glanced up to Dean, taking the proffered shirt without a word. 

Gingerly, Sam wiped the mess from Cas’s face, trying to avoid the worst of his wounds. His lip was split and there was a cut on his hairline that was still bleeding sluggishly. 

Below that, Sam could see mottled bruising on the angel’s throat, like someone had wrapped their fingers around his trachea and squeezed. His shoulders and back were hidden beneath his wings, but Sam could see that his hands were on the hard wooden floor. Wide metal shackles were around his wrists, but they didn’t appear to be connected to anything. 

“Gimme your lockpicks,” Sam demanded, looking to Dean. Dean shook his head. 

“I don’t have them.” 

“Go get them.” 

Dean hesitated. 

“ _ Now! _ ” Sam snapped, and Cas winced at the sudden noise. 

Dean turned on his heel and went, glancing back as he did. Sam turned his attention back to Cas. 

“I can get these off, but I need access to the locks. You’re gonna have to move your wings out of the way.” 

“No,” Cas groaned, wincing. “No, not again, I’ll be still, don’t do that again-” 

The plea broke coherency there, devolving into a string of near-wordless negatives. Sam didn’t attempt to break in. Instead, he looked more carefully at the wrist cuffs. 

He blinked. 

He’d been looking for a chain, but there wasn’t one. Instead, the cuffs were connected to two solid metal bars. The bars extended back, into the shadows underneath Cas’s body, in what looked like a large X. Sam suspected that the other two apexes held similar cuffs around Cas’s thighs. 

The rigid connection kept Cas from repositioning- the wrist cuffs were at a low angle, forcing Cas to bend at the elbows. The result was a painfully arched back with a downward slope toward the shoulders. Sam could tell that without even having to see. 

Careful to avoid touching Cas’s skin, he felt around the edge of the cuff until he found the keyhole. Like everything else, it was slick with goo, and Sam quickly wiped it off. 

“Cas, listen to me. Do you know who had the key? I can pick this, but it would be faster to unlock it.”

“I- one of them. I don’t know, I’m sorry.” 

Dean chose that moment to reappear, holding a slim leather case out to Sam. In his other hand, he held the blanket they kept in the back of the impala. 

Sam wiped his hands off on the messy shirt, then flipped the case open. Cas’s eyes widened. 

“Sam, please, please don’t-”

The angel leaned down, burying his face in his hands. His wings splayed slightly, revealing a thin strip of his back. 

The skin was smeared with come and blood and Dean could see runes carved in what looked like enochian. 

“Jeez, Cas,” he breathed, but all the angel did was shove his shoulders down further, whimpering. 

Dean tried not to look, did everything he could to try to convince himself that he didn’t need to, but it was for nothing. 

Cas’s feathers left trails through the mess on his thighs. More runes were carved there, most of them still bleeding sluggishly. A fair amount of the blood was coming from Cas’s hole, which was forced up and exposed by the bindings. 

Dean shook his head. 

The bindings. That’s what he should be focusing on, not gawking at the damage like a damn rubbernecker. 

Silently, he crouched behind Cas, looking at the filthy bands that circled his thighs, just above the knee. 

“These are just buckled,” he reported after a second. “Cas, I’m gonna take these off. You’re gonna feel my hand here, don’t kick at me, okay?” 

Cas nodded into his hands, still unwilling to raise his face. Sam was trying to get him to move, so he could work on the cuffs, but the seraph was resolutely immobile. 

It wasn’t until Dean began working at the buckles that Cas became completely still. The trembling stopped, he even quit breathing. 

“It’s not gonna hurt, we’re just trying to get the restraints off,” Sam murmured. 

“I can’t,” Cas groaned. “I won’t, I promise, it’s good enough. I won’t.” 

“Won’t what?” 

“ _ Move, _ ” Cas answered, a hint of desperation in his voice. He looked up at Sam, his voice getting louder as he felt the first strap come free. “I’m not moving. See?”

Sam and Dean exchanged glances. 

“You lost me, bud.” 

Cas dropped his gaze, lowering his shoulders, keeping his wings out of Dean’s way. He trembled, but otherwise didn’t move. 

“Don’t break them again,” he whispered, his voice almost too low for Sam to hear. 

The second leather band came free and Dean immediately backed away, not wanting to crowd against his friend. 

“Anything else around your legs?” he asked, not really wanting to investigate. “Or your belly?” 

Cas shook his head. 

“Can you sit up on your knees, then?” Sam asked. “You don’t have to move your wings, but it would make it a hell of a lot easier to get these cuffs off.”

Cas hesitated. 

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not? Is it bolted to the floor or something?” 

Cas drew in a ragged breath. 

“I think if I move, I’m going to be sick.” 

“Then you’re gonna be sick,” Dean said, not unkindly. “You can’t stay like this. We’re not too far from the motel, we’ll get you some painkillers and get you cleaned up and you’ll be fine.” 

“You don’t understand,” Cas said, pushing his cuffed wrists toward Sam. “Please, just do it like this. I’ll be still.”

Sam could see the metal bars beneath Cas’s arms, free to extend now that they were no longer secured to his thighs. 

Sighing, he removed one of the picks, sliding it easily into the hole and fishing around. 

“Thank you,” Cas sighed. Sam could see some of the tension seep out of the angel’s bloody shoulders. 

The first lock gave way and Cas yanked his arm back like it had been burned. There was some bruising around his wrists, but no other damage. 

“Any idea what they were trying to accomplish with…. This?” Dean asked, gesturing to the corpses surrounding them. 

“I believe they were trying to summon Lucifer,” Cas answered quietly. Sam’s gaze snapped up, and Cas met his gaze. “You have nothing to worry about, Sam, it wasn’t a real spell.” 

“They look like real witches,” Sam observed, wrinkling his nose. The second cuff snapped free and Cas immediately wavered, clutching at his stomach. 

As soon as his balance failed, his wings spread wide on reflex, trying to keep him from falling. Sam scrambled back without thinking, trying to escape the huge entity suddenly in front of him. He took in the tattered mess as Cas screamed in shock and pain and was promptly sick, as predicted. 

From his position behind Cas, all Dean could do was stare. The left wing was shorter than the right- most of the feathers on the end were missing, and as he looked, Dean could see the sharp end of a broken bone extending from the bloody stump. His right wasn’t much better- it appeared intact, but it twisted and bent awkwardly, trying to straighten and failing. 

Both wings were covered in carved runes, overlaid with sticky come. 

Cas screamed and shuddered, drawing the mutilated things back toward his body. It was slow, and halting, obviously hurting him badly. Dean caught sight of Sam, on his ass on the far side of the angel, staring in horror. 

Dean realized he had no idea how to bandage a broken wing, and had the sudden crazy thought that they might actually need a hospital for this one. 

Cas’s wings settled back against his torso and he simply waited, shuddering. 

“I’m sorry for startling you,” he said quietly, glancing up at Sam.

“‘S good,” Sam answered, staring wide-eyed. 

Cas wiped his mouth, very carefully not looking at the white puddle he’d left on the altar. 

“May I have the blanket?” he asked, trying to return to normal speaking volume and failing. “I can meet you out at the car in a moment.” 

“There’s no way you can walk like this,” Dean protested. “Come on, we’ll help you.” 

He took Cas’s arm, meaning to pull him up, but he found the angel immobile. 

“I would prefer to do this alone,” Cas insisted. Dean glanced up to Sam, tilting his head toward the door. Sam opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it and nodded. 

Dean watched him go, listening for the sound of the wooden church door swinging shut. It wasn’t until he heard the car door slam that he turned back to Cas. 

“I’m not sugarcoating this,” he said, trying to keep his voice even when Cas’s eyes snapped up. “It’s pretty obvious what went down here. The part I’m worried about is  _ why,  _ but we’ll figure that out when you’re fixed up.”

Cas snorted at that, but Dean carried on. 

“Judging by the crowd and that puddle, you’ve been here a while. Am I right?” 

Cas hesitated. 

“The ritual started about a day ago. No more than thirty six hours.” 

Dean winced on his friend’s behalf. 

“Okay. Listen. I know this is humiliating, but you’ve gotta get your stomach empty. That shit’ll make you sick. Did that do it?” 

Cas looked up at him then, a little confused. Then, without saying anything, he rose up onto his knees. A trail of come ran down his thigh, leaking from his ass, and he looked away. 

Dean took in the runes carved across his chest, before letting his eyes drop to Cas’s distended stomach. His eyes widened. 

“Holy shit, Cas, that’s….” He looked back around the room, doing a mental headcount. “Did we miss some?” 

Cas shook his head. 

“I think some of it was… prepared in advance.” He winced as he spoke. Dean looked sympathetically at his swollen belly. 

“It’s gotta come up, man. Trust me on this. You’ll feel better afterward.” 

Cas coughed, the motion quickly turning into a gag. Dean scrabbled for the discarded lockpick kit, drawing out a long flat file. 

“Press this down on your tongue, toward the back,” he advised, handing it over. Cas took it, observing it dubiously. 

“Come on, I’ll hold your hair back,” Dean joked. He almost reached out, but saw the lacerations and thought better of it at the last second. He was left with his hand hovering awkwardly in midair, and he quickly dropped it. 

Cas looked at the file a few seconds before slipping it into his mouth, pressing down as he was told. Almost immediately he gagged, struck with the urge to vomit, and he almost pulled the file back out. He had to remind himself that this was his goal, and force the metal tool to remain still. 

His throat made an involuntary sound and another round came up, salty and bitter in his mouth. It splattered over the wooden floorboards and Cas closed his eyes, not wanting to see. 

He didn’t want  _ Dean _ to see, either, but he couldn’t bring himself to look over. Couldn’t bear to see the disgust on his friend’s face. 

He pressed the file harder against his tongue, trying not to taste the sickly-warm fluid as his body rejected it. 

It took a few minutes, but eventually the wrenching spasms in his belly were unable to produce results. Exhausted and sick, Cas sat up, wiping his mouth with the back of his equally filthy hand. Dean handed over a wad of partly-clean fabric, and Cas was mortified to realize that it was the hunter’s own shirt. 

“I can’t-”

“It’s ruined anyway. Wipe your face.”

Cas looked for a clean spot, found one, and obeyed. 

“Feel better?” 

“Marginally.” 

Cas’s hand hovered over his belly. It was still distended from the amount of….  _ fluid _ they’d forced into it. He was grateful that the tools they’d used seemed to have vanished in the interim. He’d probably die of shame if Sam or Dean had seen the tubing and syringes and  _ realized- _

“Can you stand?” 

Cas hesitated. Come was still leaking down his thigh- he had no illusions about what would happen if he stood. His empty stomach twisted, and if there had been anything in it, he would have gagged at the pure shame of it. 

“Can you give me a minute?” 

Dean blinked. 

“Yeah. Yeah, sure. Whatever you need, man.”

Hesitantly, Dean unfolded the blanket. It was big enough to wrap him or Sam, but he wasn’t sure how it was going to work, with Cas’s wings the way they were. Given the choice between the white feathers and his junk, Dean wasn’t sure which the angel would prefer to hide. 

He settled for holding the fabric out to Cas, letting him make his own decision. 

“I’ll be out there, yeah?” 

He jerked a thumb toward the wide doors Sam had disappeared through. Cas nodded, taking the blanket thankfully. 

Dean hadn’t made it halfway to the doors before a pained cry dragged him back. 

Cas had risen up onto one knee before his balance faltered. Even as Dean watched, he began to overbalance. Dean caught him before he could fall, ignoring the cold, gluey feeling of the drying mess on Cas’s skin. 

“I gotcha, man.” 

“I’m sorry,” Cas gasped. “I can do it, I just need a second-” 

He attempted to rise again, and this time Dean saw the issue. 

Each of the drenched, filthy wings weighed a ton. When Cas tried to move, the wings moved with him, the muscles flexing in an attempt to counterbalance each other. The result must have been agony.

Cas tried a third time before Dean could stop him, and this time he actually screamed, the muscles of his back shuddering under the strain. 

“This isn’t gonna work,” Dean told him sternly. “Stay still, you’re going to make it worse.” 

There was a pounding on the door, and Sam’s head reappeared around the corner. 

“The whole outer wall has a nice gasoline varnish, let me know when I can light the match.”

“Give us a sec,” Dean snapped, then regretted it when Cas winced. He turned his attention back to the angel. “Okay, I’m gonna wrap the blanket around your wings and tie it off as best I can. Once they’re immobilized, I’ll help you out to the car. Deal?” 

Cas opened his mouth, about to suggest that Dean simply leave him here as part of the cleanup- but something stopped him. Probably the knowledge that he would never do that. 

Cas half-crawled and was half-dragged to a clean section of the floor, which he promptly proceeded to defile with the various fluids dripping from his body. He grit his teeth as Dean bound his wings up. There were sigils carved into the flesh beneath the feathers, and Cas couldn’t help but shudder as the blanket drew tight over them. Beneath the skin, the bones ground together, sending Cas’s vision into overlapping hazes of red and white. 

He vaguely remembered slinging one of his arms over Dean’s shoulders. He remembered the brothers helping him into the backseat, jostling his swollen belly and leaving him dry-heaving. Miserable, Cas watched out the window as the old church burned. The uneven light flickered off the smears he was leaving on the Impala’s upholstery, and he knew he was never going to make this up to Dean. Not in a million years. 

 

~~~

 

Dean caught sight of the motel’s garish neon, and tried not to glance in his rearview mirror- tried and failed for the hundredth time in the fifteen minute drive. 

Cas’s face was pale where it leaned against the window. It would have been reassuring to see the angel sleep- instead, his eyes were open as he stared listlessly through the glass. Each bump and pothole made him wince and hiss, and Dean tried hard not to think about the next thing they’d have to do. 

He pulled up outside their room- in the back corner, farthest from the street lights, their usual. Dean flipped Sam one of the fake cards- he didn’t need to explain that they needed a second room. Sam didn’t need to ask. He vanished toward the motel office, while Dean dug out the key to their room. 

He stripped one of the polyester blankets off the bed, carrying it quickly back outside. 

Cas was sitting with the door open, seemingly oblivious to the possible dangers of the deserted parking lot. 

“Hey man, careful flashing the goods,” Dean chided gently. He wrapped the blanket around Cas’s disturbingly still form. “Come on. Let’s get you in the shower.” 

“I don’t think it’s going to help,” Cas muttered. He was staring across the parking lot, but Dean didn’t think he actually saw anything. His eyes were unfocused, and Dean had to snap a couple times to bring him back to reality. 

“Of course it’ll help. You’re covered in goo; you need hot water and soap. Come on.” 

“You can’t wash this  _ away, _ ” Cas rasped, looking up at Dean with sudden focus. Dean knew exactly what the angel was getting at; he wasn’t going there. Not now. 

“We can wash some of it away,” he answered, looking back at his friend. He held Cas’s gaze, long enough to show he was on the same page. 

He got Cas wrapped in the scratchy blanket and helped him limp inside. They both ignored the white-red smears left behind them on the carpet. 

The bathroom was really too small for two men their size; Dean made it work. 

“Do you want to sit, or kneel?” he asked, guiding Cas into the bath. Cas grimaced. 

“I don’t think I can sit.” 

“Yeah, okay.”

Gingerly, Cas lowered himself back down onto his knees. 

The damage had looked bad in the dim candlelight of the church. In the harsh fluorescents of the bathroom, it looked both better and worse. The carved sigils looked shallower, but at the same time, it was clear that most of Cas’s body was covered in mottled bruising. 

Dean carefully unwrapped Cas’s wings, trying not to disturb the feathers as he did. The dirty blanket he folded into eighths, before dropping it into the bottom of the tub. 

“You can kneel on that if you want. Might make this easier.”

Cas looked at it for a second, then shoved it under his knees. 

Dean reached for the taps, letting the water run down the drain until it flowed hot. Cas stared at it dully, not seeming to care about the temperature. 

“That good?” 

“It’s fine.” 

“Alright. I’m turning on the shower. Close your eyes.” 

Cas glanced up at him then, the order cutting through the apathy. The bruises around his eye looked black in the yellow light. Dean didn’t look away. 

“I don’t want any of this shit getting in your eyes. Last thing you need is pinkeye or something.” 

Cas squinted at him, then complied. Dean flipped the lever, letting hot water flow over Cas’s back. 

It was worse than he’d hoped and better than he’d feared. 

The come had dried in Cas’s feathers, congealing into a sticky mess that washed away in greyish globs. It mixed with dark red flecks and bright crimson runnels, spiraling down the drain in a stream that Dean was glad Cas couldn’t see. 

“I’m guessing some of these sigils are blocking your mojo?” he asked, trying to keep Cas’s attention focused on something other than the sludge running off him. 

“That and what’s… inside,” Cas finished quietly. Dean glanced at the tight curve of his belly, dreading the answer to his next question. 

“It needs to come out, doesn’t it.” 

Cas swallowed. The thought of having to ask for help was mortifying, but worse than that was the tight, sick feeling of the semen filling his bowels. He shuddered, remembering. 

He hadn’t been able to turn, to see what they were doing… but he could feel. There had been some kind of tube, working it’s way slowly into his belly. The first few men had already violated him at that point, and their...  _ leavings _ served to slick the way. Still, it didn’t stop his belly from cramping and twisting as the tube was pushed deeper. 

 

_ Every inch had to be forced into him, and more than once, Cas was certain that he was tearing- that the tube had reached some impenetrable barrier and they meant to kill him by ripping it open and leaving him to bleed out.  _

_ He didn’t bleed out, though, and eventually they stopped pushing it deeper.  _

_ That’s when Cas had learned the purpose of the gag, the one that held his mouth open and his tongue down.  _

_ One of the men- because this was only the start of the ritual, and they were still men- approached him, grasping his hair and yanking his head up. The tip of the man’s cock rested on Cas’s lower lip, and Cas stared daggers at him, even as the man began to stroke himself lazily.  _

_ There was a noise behind him, and Cas suddenly felt something cold seeping into his belly. He cried out and twisted against the restraints, but it was no use.  _

_ The man in front of him shuddered, spilling his release across Cas’s face. With his mouth trapped, Cas couldn’t spit it out- or swallow it.  _

_ That would come later.  _

 

“Cas? You with me?” 

Cas opened his eyes, blinking when he was greeted with white tile instead of dirty wood. His throat suddenly felt tight. The hot water was washing away the blood and the come but it wouldn’t wash away the  _ fact _ of it. It wouldn’t wash away the humiliation of what he’d need to do in order to heal. 

“It has to come out,” the angel verified, unwilling to look at his friend. “But it won’t. Not on it’s own.” 

Dean’s jaw set. 

“Okay. So what do you need? I’m pretty sure we passed a drugstore a couple blocks back, they got pills for this sort of thing, clean ya right out-” 

“It’s not that kind of-” Cas started, but then scowled, looking away. “More like rosemary and holy oil.” 

Dean was silent for a few seconds. 

“Oh,” he said at last. He could have said more, and Castiel knew it. He could have pried for details, asked about the spell, demanded to know what was…  _ festering _ … inside Castiel’s body. But he didn’t. 

Instead he rose, leaving momentarily only to return with the empty ice bucket. He let it fill with water and then poured it slowly over Cas’s wings, right where they met his back. 

A moment later, Dean’s fingers were carding through the feathers, and Cas shivered. He opened his mouth, a warning already forming, but Dean’s hands were warm and gentle on the broken skin. 

And so Cas said nothing, instead choosing to focus on his own cleanup efforts. Dean offered him the soap and he took it gratefully, lathering it thick through his hair and over his face. The cuts around his eye stung, but he ignored the pain, preferring cleanliness to comfort. 

Like he’d ever be clean again. 

His stomach cramped uncomfortably, as if to undermine the point. He froze, waited for it to pass, and then went to work on his arms and shoulders. 

Dean continued to work the filth out of his wings, and Cas was grateful. Soaked as they were, they were almost too heavy to lift. 

One was decidedly lighter than the other, and Cas knew that if he had to think too closely about that, he might give up entirely. 

There was a light knock on the door. Dean glanced at Cas, who nodded. No point keeping the younger man out. Sam had wiped his face clean and Castiel’s first instinct was to beg the hunter not to rape him. There was no dignity left to be preserved here. 

Dean leaned backward, opening the door. Sam stood in the threshold but didn’t enter. There really wasn’t room for all three of them, anyway. 

“How you doing?” Sam asked, looking over Cas’s kneeling form. Cas palmed the soap again, running slick fingers over the wounds on his shoulders. He said nothing. 

“I need to make a supply run,” Dean said, breaking the silence. “There’s some stuff he needs to- to heal. It shouldn’t take me more than an hour.” 

“I can stay,” Sam volunteered instantly. He took a step into the cramped room. “You get what you need, I’ll help Cas-”

“ _ No! _ ” Cas cried, drawing the mutilated wing out of Sam’s reach. Sam instantly froze, holding his hand up in a gesture of surrender. Pain surged through the shortened wing and Cas panted, not taking his eyes off the hunters. 

Internally, he kicked himself. 

Why should it matter if Sam touched him now? His wings had been handled and defiled by dozens of strangers-  _ monsters, _ if he was being honest. 

It occurred to Castiel that the brothers could hold him down and take turns fucking him and he still wouldn’t be any more degraded than he was already. What did it matter if Sam wanted to help clean his wings? 

“Cas?” Dean asked hesitantly, and Cas felt his face burning because he’d let  _ Dean _ touch them without a whisper of protest, and now he owed them an explanation he wasn’t nearly ready to give. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, letting his wing drop gingerly back into place. “I was… startled.”

He looked up at Sam, trying to summon an expression other than fear. “I’d be grateful for your help.” 

Cas watched the drain, unwilling to look up as he gave Dean the list of ingredients. Then the elder brother left, leaving Sam and Cas alone. 

Sam knelt beside the tub, laying out the washcloth. Cas bit his tongue and forced himself to spread his wings in invitation. The hot water flowed over them and Cas prepared for the feeling of Sam’s hands on his feathers. 

“You don’t really want me to touch you, do you?” 

Cas tried to relax, but found himself unable to answer. Sam cleared his throat. 

“Is it because they were trying to summon Lucifer?” 

Cas’s eyes snapped open, and he turned to face the other man. Sam’s hands were on the edge of the tub- he was looking at them, not Cas. 

“What?” Cas managed. 

“I’m his vessel. I let him out of the cage,” Sam said. His voice was tight. “I let him  _ inside _ me. I spent a year in the cage with him…”

“That has nothing to do with this,” Cas insisted. 

“It’s okay, I get it,” Sam said. “I’m not clean, it’s something I’ve come to terms with. You don’t need to pretend if you don’t want to.” 

Cas gritted his teeth, his fingers digging into his knees. 

“I don’t want  _ anyone _ to touch them,” he admitted. “They aren’t meant to exist on the physical plane, they aren’t meant to be touched, except…”

He sighed. He couldn’t make this confession. Not now. All the reservations he’d had before were magnified a thousand times under the weight of what had happened. What the Winchesters both  _ knew _ had happened. 

 

_ The body was a gift.  _

_ Castiel believed this.  _

_ A gift to be given in love and endearment. A treasure to be enjoyed and shared.  _

_ He’d harbored ideas- fantasies, even- about giving this gift to someone he… cared about. Very deeply. When he thought about it, it was green eyes and strong hands that he pictured. _

_ He’d always held back, hesitant to offer in the same way anyone would hesitate to offer a broken gift.  _

_ As soon as his clothing was stripped away, he knew what would happen to him. There was no shock, no disbelief when he was forced to his knees and shackled into place. The men around him chanted as rough fingers prodded at his hole.  _

_ The spell required that he be untouched- that they take from him in pain what was meant to be given in love.  _

_ Castiel screamed as he was breached for the first time- it was far from the worst pain he’d ever felt, but it was unique nonetheless. His body fought back, trying to stop the stinging, burning intrusion, but it was pointless.  _

_ Tears fell to the dirty floor as the man finished inside him, shuddering and clawing at Castiel’s back as the spell overwhelmed him. Castiel paid him no mind as he fell away, writhing on the floor in the pain of his transformation.  _

_ Another man immediately took his place, heedless of the struggles of his predecessor. He buried himself in Castiel’s bleeding body without preamble, and Castiel wept for what he had lost.  _

 

Cas blinked back tears, grateful that the evidence was lost in the shower’s warm spray. 

Maybe one day, given time, he could have redeemed himself. Could have made himself into a gift worth offering. 

Not now. 

Now, he’d rather go through the whole thing again, rather than admit that he still felt this broken, violated thing had some expectation of  _ exclusivity.  _

“Except what?” 

Sam was looking at him now, and Castiel’s heart broke at the hint of hope there. 

“Unless it’s an emergency,” Cas finished. Sam saw the lie, and didn’t comment. 

“Between them, though,” Cas added quickly, looking up at the hunter. “And below them. There are sigils c-carved in? I think?” 

“Yeah.”

Cas swallowed. 

“Can you get the… the blood off?” 

Sam nodded, maybe a little too eagerly. 

“Yeah, I can do that.”

Cas rose up onto his knees, wincing at the movement. His swollen belly cramped and protested, and he sent out a silent prayer for Dean to hurry. 

The new position bared more of his back to Sam, and the hunter wiped the skin down with infinite care. It occurred to Cas that Sam had experience with wounds like this. 

Sam reached his lower back and for a moment, Cas was tempted to let him keep going. To just remain still under the warm water, and let Sam take care of him. 

But Sam hesitated at the small of his back, unsure, and Cas shook it off. He could reach that area; there was no reason to pressure Sam to do it for him. 

“There’s more sigils down here,” Sam informed him. “I, uh… I can clean them up, but you’d have to lift your hips and, uh… spread your legs a little more.” 

Cas didn’t move, torn between his unwillingness to be a burden and his desire to simply check out and stop dealing with any of this. 

Sam’s hands hesitated, resting on the small of Cas’s back. He spoke haltingly, his eyes fixed on the tile. 

“Um, so Dean says I overshare, but with injuries like this, it goes easier if you have someone who can see the… um. The damage.” Sam’s face began to color, but he carried on. “I get it if you don’t wanna be touched, especially… you know. There. I get it. Really. But if you want the help. I’m… here. I guess.” 

Castiel’s vision blurred as he watched the water swirling around his hands.  

“I don’t understand why it  _ matters, _ ” he admitted. “Why one more would make any difference, now.”

“I used to wonder, too,” Sam said quietly. Cas looked over, but Sam carried on. “I didn’t even have the excuse of anything  _ new. _ When… when Lucifer wanted me, it was always the same. Every time. But I never stopped being scared, never stopped feeling sick.” 

“Sam…” 

“Yeah, I know. Oversharing. Sorry.” 

“Does it ever wash off?” Cas asked quickly, before he lost the nerve. “Do you ever feel… clean again?” 

Sam swallowed. 

“Yeah. Eventually.” 

Cas nodded, looking back down at the water. He’d mostly stopped bleeding, now, though there was still come stuck to the hair on his body. 

Silently, Cas shifted, spreading his knees wider to give Sam access to the area between his legs. His overstuffed belly cramped, protesting.  

“Oh, god…” Sam muttered, and Cas winced. 

“I know.” 

“They go all the way-”

Sam didn’t finish. Cas knew what he was seeing- the runes on his back continued down his spine and between the cheeks of his ass. The soft pink skin there was torn and sore, but it was nothing compared to the knife marks. 

If Cas had to guess, he’d say the lowest one was on the small mound just between his hole and his balls- but he hadn’t investigated. 

“I’m not sure we can stitch this,” Sam said quietly. Cas closed his eyes. 

“Once the taint of the spell has been removed, I’ll be able to heal on my own.” 

“Right. Yeah…” 

Sam took the soap, and a moment later, Cas felt the washcloth skirting hesitantly across the cleft of his ass. He hissed as the soap met open wounds. 

“Sorry. I know it stings but it’s all kinda… dried on.” 

“Do what you have to. The sooner it’s gone, the sooner I can heal.” 

Sam said nothing, and for a few minutes, the bathroom was silent. Cas watched the water circling the drain, cringing in humiliation when he realized that the monsters’ come was actively dripping from his sore hole. 

Sam, to his credit, said nothing. 

“About the wings,” Cas said at last. Sam’s hand stilled, halfway up the inside of Cas’s thigh. 

“It’s fine.” 

“You deserve to know,” Cas insisted. It was true. More importantly,  _ Dean _ deserved to know. But that was neither here nor there. “Wings aren’t meant to by physical. They aren’t meant to be  _ touched. _ But to… interact. I suppose. With an angel’s wings. It’s not something that we… do.”

Sam nodded. 

“There’s still some of Lucifer in me.” 

“There isn’t. But listen. For angels to interact that way. With each other. It’s rare. Most angels never allow anyone to come near their wings. At all. Ever. It’s an  _ extremely _ intimate privilege.” 

Cas glanced to the side, only to see Sam frowning back at him. 

“Dean was helping you clean them,” Sam said after a moment. 

“Yes. He was.” 

Cas waited a few seconds while the gears turned in Sam’s head. 

“Does he know? What it means?” 

“No.” 

Sam nodded. 

“You should tell him.” 

“I know.” 

As though summoned, Dean appeared in the bathroom door, a plastic bag hanging off one hand. The two occupants stared at him, silent. Dean frowned. 

“What did I miss?” 

 

~~~

 

Sam excused himself almost instantly, making Dean incredibly suspicious about what had happened while he was gone. Cas said nothing, just shut off the water. He’d been under the spray for more than an hour and Dean could still see places where the blood and semen still clung. 

Dean knelt by the side of the tub, laying out the ingredients one by one for Cas’s inspection.

The opaque bag from the drugstore, he left closed for now. 

Cas went through them, slowly and methodically. Most of the weird stuff Dean had already had in the car- holy oil, a small gold blade, the rib of a small rodent- but some of the fresher stuff he’d had to get from the store. Rosemary. Honey. Salt. (‘The  _ pink _ kind’, Cas had insisted.) Witch hazel. 

Cas inspected each item, approving them one at a time. 

“I thought you said the spell was no good?” Dean asked, mostly to break up the silence. 

“It wasn’t an effective method of summoning Lucifer,” Cas answered. “It was an effective focusing of negative energies, which they successfully absorbed into themselves.” 

Dean nodded, remembering the grotesque appearance of the monsters in the church. 

“Their transformation was dramatic but ultimately without purpose,” Castiel continued. He opened the bottle of astringent, sniffing it experimentally. 

“Witch hazel,” Dean explained. Cas frowned at it. 

“It’s a major ingredient,” Dean insisted. Cas was skeptical, but left it alone. It would probably work well enough. 

“I think this is everything,” he concluded. He glanced up at Dean.

“And this’ll get that crap outta you, right?” Dean asked, surveying it. “So you can heal?” 

“I believe so,” Cas answered. “Assuming I characterized the… ah… the spellwork accurately.” 

“And I’m guessing you can’t just drink it,” Dean said dourly. Cas gave him a wry smile. 

“That would certainly be easier, but no.” 

“Figured,” Dean said, opening the last bag. The enema kit sat at the bottom, quiet and unobtrusive. 

Cas looked at it a moment, a puzzled expression crossing his features as he worked out the purpose of the bottle and the hose and the-

Sighing, he rubbed his hands over his face, dislodging drops of water from his hair. Everything hurt. His wings were the worst, but his whole body was sore. He didn’t want to do this- not ever, but particularly not now. 

The gunk in his belly roiled, sending another wave of cramps through him. 

None of the pain was going to stop until he could get it out. 

Grimacing, he turned the water back on. Dean handed him the bottle and he filled it most of the way with the hottest water he could stand. His stomach cramped and twisted, like the sickness inside knew it was in danger. He groaned, exhausted. 

“You got it?” Dean asked quietly, and Cas opened his mouth to lie. 

Nothing came out. 

Suddenly his throat was as tight as his stomach, and he couldn’t form the words. 

Cas looked back to the wall, slamming the water off with unnecessary force, his eyes filling and in that moment he  _ hated _ himself. He hated that he’d let this happen and he hated that he couldn’t even fix his own fucking mess.

He hated lying to Dean. He hated that he had to. 

He should tell the truth, lay the whole gory mess out in the open. Clean the infection out so Dean could leave and Cas could heal. 

_ I love you, _ he didn’t say.

Castiel remembered the pain of the rape, the sick pressure in his gut, the slimy wetness between his thighs, and he couldn’t bring himself to say  _ I wanted it to be you.  _

He couldn’t lie and he couldn’t tell the truth and so he waited, throat tight, for Dean to get disgusted and leave. 

He didn’t expect the soft pressure of Dean’s hand on his lower back. 

“You’re beat to shit, man,” the hunter said quietly. “I’m kinda surprised you’re even conscious. It’s not a big deal if you need help.” 

In less serious circumstances, Dean might have laughed at the way Cas’s eyes widened. The angel turned his head slowly, looking up at him with a pair of bright blue dinner plates.

“It is a very big deal,” Cas rasped, and Dean tried his very best to be nonchalant. 

“It’s not the most dignified fix-up, sure. But fix-ups are usually pretty fucking humiliating.”

Cas gave him a look and Dean scrambled for something to say. 

“When Sammy was twelve he got food poisoning from some roadside shithole. He was a total wreck. I spent two days in a bathroom just like this, trying to keep him clean, carrying ice back from the stupid machine to try to get his fever to break.” 

Dean paused, trying to figure out how to end the story. Cas was still staring at him, wordless. 

“We were in the middle of nowhere, Dad wasn’t answering and I, uh…” Dean licked his lips. “I went down to the truck stop and came back with enough cash to take Sammy to a walk-in.” 

Dean kept his eyes on Cas, waiting for comprehension to show there. He didn’t have to wait long. 

“Sammy doesn’t remember any of it and I’m never gonna tell him,” Dean finished. “But it happened and I don’t regret it. So yeah. Fix ups. Usually a steaming helping of bullshit for everyone involved.” 

For a moment, the silence was broken only by the sound of water falling on the plastic tub. 

“I need help,” Cas said at last. 

Dean waited as the angel positioned himself in the tub, leaning forward until his scarred back slanted down toward his shoulders. He moved slowly, careful not to jar his damaged wings. 

“It needs to stay in a couple minutes,” Cas mumbled, and Dean made a sound of acknowledgement. 

Cas expected it to hurt much more than it did. 

He knew his hole was torn and damaged- he expected the sting when Dean’s fingers pressed to the skin. He wasn’t expecting the cool gel that slicked their way. It twinged where it met open wounds, but within a few seconds, the pain gave way to a dull numbness. 

Cas tucked his wings in behind his back, half-hiding beneath them while Dean slid the plastic nozzle inside him. Almost instantly, warm fluid began to fill his bowels and he winced at the new wave of cramping. 

Dean’s hand didn’t leave his lower back, stroking gently, replacing the words neither of them were willing to say. It stayed while the hot water worked itself further inside Castiel’s body, to where the monster’s come had been forced in deep. Cas could feel it bubbling and roiling as the heavy mass began to break down and dissolve. 

When he finally sat up, what came out of him was black and horrid and for a moment, Cas imagined that he saw fingertips pressing along the inside of his belly, a silent voice roaring  _ let us out- _

But it was just residual ectoplasm, it broke apart easily under the spray of the shower and was quickly gone. 

Again and again, Cas mixed the spell ingredients and Dean filled him with the hot liquid, stroking the base of his spine as Cas’s belly twisted and seized. It took more than an hour for the water to run clear. Neither of them spoke. The spray from the showerhead continued to flow over Cas’s wings, carrying minute trails of blood and semen down the drain. 

Castiel could  _ feel _ when the last of the taint left his body. Almost instantly, the sigils on his back began to heal. It went slowly at first, the raw power of his grace fighting against the amateur warding.

He felt one of the sigils fail, then another. The process picked up speed as the wounds healed, power rippling out across his skin. His wounds itched and burned as flesh reknit and blood replenished. 

Cas realized he was panting, low, strained moans escaping his lips. It wasn’t until the last of the sigils faded away that he realized he was gripping Dean’s hand. 

The hunter was staring down to where their fingers were interlaced. Though the pain had stopped and Cas’s grasp had loosened, Dean made no move to pull away. 

He realized Cas was watching him and glanced up, meeting the angel’s eyes. Neither of them said anything; nor did they let go. 

The water was pattering down over Dean’s arm, soaking through his shirt, but he didn’t seem to mind. Castiel knew he should let go, that there wasn’t any reason for the two of them to remain like this, but it was like he couldn’t make his hand move- like it had found Dean on it’s own and wasn’t going to give up on him now. 

Sam knocked on the door, breaking the spell. 

The two of them pulled apart quickly, glancing at the door as though expecting it to gossip. 

Dean pulled a towel off the rack, and Castiel wrapped it around his waist while Dean shut off the water. 

 

~~~~~

 

Cas needed his own bed. 

He limped out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, then slumped face-down onto the motel coverlet. He was exhausted and his wings still throbbed and stung when they moved. He lifted the clipped one slightly, wincing as he realized how dirty the feathers still were. 

“Wouldn’t they be safer in the… I dunno, ether plane, or wherever you usually keep them?” Sam asked. Cas groaned. 

“They’d be noncorporeal, which means they’d be unable to heal corporeal damage. If I hide them now, there’s a chance the damage will be permanent.” 

“Is there anything we can do?”

Sam dropped into the space between the beds, holding out a tall styrofoam cup. Cas took it, squinting at the paste inside. 

“Chocolate peanut butter protein shake,” Sam explained. “Plus a banana. Figured you probably wouldn’t be up for solid food.” 

“Thank you Sam,” Cas said. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, taking the chilled cup. 

Dean grumbled something about protein and red meat, but the others ignored him. 

“I should be able to heal them once they’re clean,” Cas said, taking a cautious sip. “But there are several hours of work between now and that.” 

Cas didn’t miss the way Sam glanced toward Dean. Dean was focusing carefully on his sandwich, not looking at either of them. Cas took another sip, keeping his face neutral. 

“Do you want… I mean… can you reach everywhere yourself?” Sam asked slowly. Cas sighed. 

“I should be able to manage on my own, at this point, thank you.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Dean muttered. He kept his attention on his sandwich, but he clearly meant to be heard. “Even if your body’s healed, that wing is still broken in a couple places. No way you’re up for anything that strenuous.” 

“I said I could do it myself,” Cas snapped. “I’m not a complete invalid.” 

“Didn’t say you were.”

Sam glanced back and forth between the two of them. 

“I got a couple rolls of paper towels,” he said cautiously. “I wasn’t sure if there’s some kind of soap that would work, or…”

“The towels should be sufficient,” Cas sighed. He dropped his head onto the bedspread. He was exhausted and now that the pain in his body was gone, he wanted nothing more than to sleep. Sam was looking nervously at Dean.  

“Still, I think… I think dish soap. Is what they clean birds with, when they get oil on their feathers?” 

Neither Cas nor Dean had any response to that. Sam stood, brushing crumbs off his jeans, looking around at the suddenly quiet room. 

“I’m gonna go see if I can find some. Dumb that I didn’t think of it before.” 

Dean waved him off but Cas said nothing, and Sam slipped out of the room. Castiel didn’t expect to see him again for several hours. 

Dean crumpled his sandwich wrapper and tossed it toward the trashcan. It bounced off the wall but landed in the basket. Dean counted the win. 

“Okay, so how do I do this?” he asked, picking up the roll of towels. Castiel turned his head, looking glumly at him. 

“You’ve done so much already, Dean. Get some sleep. Let me handle this.”

Dean ignored him, climbing up onto the bed. 

“I can reach easier than you can and I’ve had a way easier day. You focus on healing.” 

Dean tore off a couple towels, surveying the sticky mess in front of him. Cas rolled onto his side, catching Dean’s wrist before he could get any closer. 

“Dean. Don’t.” 

Dean frowned, searching Cas’s face. He looked tired, dark shadows under his eyes even after the bruising had healed. His face revealed nothing, but the feathers of his damaged wings were standing on end, twitching. 

Unbidden, Dean remembered the first glimpse of Cas in the church, the way he’d begged… what he’d thought…

“Cas, I’m not… I’m not gonna  _ hurt _ you.” 

“Exactly the opposite,” Cas said quietly. “I should have stopped you-”

The angel frowned, like he was trying to find words. 

“Angel wings aren’t supposed to be  _ touched, _ Dean. I shouldn’t have let you do it before, but I was weak and it  _ hurt  _ and I just wanted-”

“Cas, when have we ever cared what we’re  _ supposed _ to do?” 

“Because you deserve to know what it  _ means! _ ” Cas shouted. “Otherwise I’m no better than- than them.” 

He finished quietly, looking away from Dean’s questioning gaze. 

“Better than  _ who, _ ” Dean asked slowly. By the tone, he could make a guess, but he couldn’t see the connection. 

“I knew what it meant and I let you touch them anyway,” Cas groaned. “I took advantage of your ignorance for my own benefit and I should have stowed my shit and handled it myself.” 

Dean rubbed his face. 

“Cas, I don’t know how to tell you this, but I knew we were in for some bad touches the minute I saw you.”

Cas frowned, opening his mouth to say something, but Dean cut him off. 

“I saw you naked today, man. I killed a church full of crazy perverts. I taught you about impromptu stomach pumps and stuck your bare ass in the backseat of my baby. I washed monster goo out of your wings and rounded the whole thing off by putting two litres of potpourri up your ass. Where, in  _ any _ of that, did you get the idea that there’s anything I wouldn’t do for you?” 

Cas stared at him, momentarily speechless. 

“Only mates touch each other’s wings,” he said finally. Dean rubbed his face.

“Human culture has that same rule about assholes. And yet here we are. It’s fine, man. It was an emergency, not a marriage proposal. It didn’t mean anything.” 

“It’s not an emergency now,” Cas answered dully. Dean froze, looking up at him. 

“So you don’t  _ want _ my help,” he said slowly.

“I didn’t say that.” 

Dean frowned, then rubbed his face.

“It’s way too late for this, Cas. If you’re not comfortable having me touch you, I get it. But if you want help, I’m here.” 

“I’d deeply appreciate your assistance, Dean. But I felt you had a right to an informed decision.”  

“Consider me informed,” Dean quipped, balling up a couple paper towels.

“I didn’t let Sam touch them,” Cas said quickly, pulling away. “Only you.” 

“Yeah, I noticed. Hold still.” 

Dean started just over Cas’s left shoulder, and Cas nearly moaned as the cleansed skin quickly healed. He’d meant to work on the wing tips while Dean handled his back, but he suddenly found himself unwilling to move. Dean’s touch was heavenly, and not just because he left a trail of healed wounds in his wake. Already, Cas could feel his grace probing at the edges of the broken bones. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled. 

Dean didn’t answer, but a moment later, Cas felt a soft press of lips to the nape of his neck. 

“Only mates do that,” Cas muttered. 

Dean kissed him again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Original kinkmeme prompt:   
> http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/117684.html?thread=42736564
> 
> I think I got it pretty close. 
> 
> I started writing this a month ago. It was supposed to be a one-shot.
> 
> I got distracted in the middle because Bean was born. It was horrible. 0/10, would not star in my own whump fic ever again.   
> We're both fine now though.


End file.
